


Memories

by maddienole



Category: Animaniacs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nightmares, Protective Siblings, Self-Aware Cartoons, Sort Of, Yakko is a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27758749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddienole/pseuds/maddienole
Summary: It had been years since the accident - Wakko still has nightmares, Dot still acts out, and Yakko....well, he's trying his best to be the best big brother he can be.(or a self-indulgent AU where the Warner siblings had actual parents before they were locked up in the tower)
Relationships: Dot Warner & Wakko Warner & Yakko Warner
Comments: 16
Kudos: 266





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got around to watching the revival and....it's kind of amazing? I had no intention of writing fanfic about one of my favorite childhood tv shows, but here we are. Apologies if the Warner sibs are a bit (alot) OOC, but alas I know nothing other than angst.

Yakko never wanted to be a brother.

He thought it quite rude of his parents to make that decision _for_ him - adding another Warner to the brood without so much as a by your leave from their first was rather rude of them to say the least.

Of course, things then.... _happened_ , and soon enough Wakko came into this world without approval from the eldest Warner child. There were questions Yakko wanted to ask, _many_ in fact.

_“Was I not good enough?”_

_“Do you really need another one?”_

_“Will he ever stop crying?”_

Wakko was a mighty crier, and a mighty eater as well. It never failed to amaze Yakko how his baby brother was able to guzzle down such an exorbitant amount of food without gaining an inch widthwise. But there were _many_ things Yakko had yet to understand about himself and the world around him.

 _“We are cartoons_ ,” father had told him.

 _“Yes, but what does that mean?_ ” he had asked back, just to receive an unsatisfactory response. Apparently being a cartoon meant _a lot_. And yet somehow it meant also nothing at the same time. Life was terribly confusing.

It took a while - well, maybe _slightly_ _less_ than ‘a while’ - and there came another Warner sibling. A _girl_ this time. Mother was happy. Father was thrilled. They had always wanted a daughter, they had told him.

Yakko didn’t want a sister, either. But he had dealt with Wakko as best he could so far, what possible damage could the next one do?

This one was called Dot. Nothing more, nothing less. Just _Dot_. She was a squirmy thing - always moving, never resting. She wasn’t as loud as Wakko when he first came into the world, but somehow _far_ more demanding.

No, Yakko definitely did _not_ ask for a sister.

But this time things were different. Not a good kind of different, mind you. It was the kind of different that spelled _danger_. The nervous talking, the darting eyes - the _whispering_. Father packed him into the car, Dot and Wakko strapped into separate car seats beside him and they just... _went._

There were _bad_ people after them, father had said. _A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S._

 _“Who’s that?”_ Yakko had asked. _“Why do they want us? Were we being bad?”_

What was an A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R?

It was raining that day, he remembered. It was raining and the roads were slick. Father was mad about something - _many things_ , _in fact_. But they had to keep moving or the A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S will come and take them away.

 _“But what did we do?_ ” Yakko asked again.

 _“It isn’t what we did, it’s who we are,”_ mother had said.

_We are cartoons._

The rain continued to poor. Dottie wouldn’t sleep, even with mother singing to her. Yakko brought a book with him, the only thing he managed to take before being unceremoniously jolted from his bed. He couldn’t remember now _which_ book it was exactly, another remnant of a time now lost to him. But it was big and thick and had a plethora of drawings within its pages. He put it down for the briefest of seconds - _just long enough to look out the window_ \- just long enough for Wakko to grab it with his grubby little toddler hands. His little brother had the tendency to put things in his mouth. _Anything_ \- regardless of edibility. Yakko’s book was shiny and colorful and garnered enough interest for Wakko to grab it and dampen the pages with his slobber.

Next came the tug of war. Then the screaming. Mother was screaming and Dottie was screaming and _Wakko just wouldn’t let go of his book._

Father was screaming too, telling him to let Wakko have it.

 _“But it’s mine!”_ he yelled back, yanking even harder.

Why should he let Wakko have his book? He couldn’t even read yet!

Father turned around, grabbing for the book. The rain continued to pour. Dottie continued to scream. The car....what was it? _Served._ Off of the road and the _noise_....the crunching of metal and shattering of glass and...and....

Wakko didn’t remember any of it.

Yakko did.

And the book? It was such a _trivial_ thing in the end. Worthless, in every way possible. Yakko didn’t even remember which book it was. He remembered....what did he remember? It was dark and cold and _wet_. And he was running and carrying Dottie and Wakko was clutching his hand tight...so _tight._

 _“Keep away from the A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S,”_ father had said. Where had his father gone? Where had mother gone?

_“We are cartoons. We cannot die.”_

_“We are cartoons, Yakko.”_

_“We are cartoons...”_

It was raining now, he thinks. The water droplets falling with a vengeance - crashing into the metal Warner’s tower with little to no concern about the occupants inside.

Yakko hates the rain.

He hates the A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S. He had avoided them for _years_ \- watching Wakko and Dot grow to walk and talk and _sing_. Dance and play and cause mischief - so much mischief. He _loves_ them. Mother and Father would have loved them too.

Wakko would ask about them sometimes. He would see a picture or a name and tears would bubble in his eyes, not knowing _why_ he was feeling such things.

Dottie asks about them as well. A curious child since birth, she never knew anything different. She would never remember her mother’s voice, not in the way her brothers did. But she had many questions.

_“Why does Wakko scream at night?”_

_“Why does Wakko talk like that?”_

_“Do you think they would have liked me?”_

He tells her Wakko screams because he is frightened.

_“Of what?”_

_“The past.”_

He tells her Wakko likes listening to the Beatles - one of the few records they have available in this cramped tower of theirs. He likes Ringo the most - especially the way he talks.

_“It’s a coping mechanism, Dottie.”_

_“Whatsa a...huh?”_

He tells her that his parents adored her. That they always wanted a little girl. He tells her how much she reminds him of mother. Of her tenacity. Of her spirit.

_“What’s a tenacity?”_

The A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S caught up with them eventually. They were troublemakers. They were mistakes. They were _uncontrollable_.

_“We created you.”_

_“You belong to us.”_

They needed discipline _._ Isolation.

 _“Will they still feed us?”_ Wakko had asked.

Yakko wonders where their parents were. He wonders if they are thinking about them.

Time moved differently here, in the Warner movie lot. Time...didn’t move much at all. Yakko wasn’t sure how long him and his siblings had been trapped in this tower, maybe days. Maybe _decades._

They found hobbies. Dot loved to sing. Wakko loved to play tricks. And _eat_ , of course. All of them dreamed.

Yakko shifted in his bed, trying to block out the sound of the rain and thunder. He tries covering his ears - covering his face, his body. He can see the face of his mother, a face that becomes less clear to him every day.

 _“We created you,”_ the A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S had said. _“You are a cartoon.”_

“ _No_ ,” he wanted to say back. _“Our parents made us.”_

_“Your parents do not exist.”_

_“Your parents do not...”_

_“Your parents do...”_

_“_ Yakko?”

He gasps, blinking open his eyes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, though it must not have been for long. Dot stands in front of him, clutching some type of doll or stuffed toy. There was worry in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, noting how scratchy his voice sounds.

She didn’t need to answer. The sound of a scream splits through the air. A _familiar_ voice. Dot sniffles. Yakko sighs.

“Again?”

A stiff nod from Dot, nothing more.

He wonders what Wakko dreams about. What he remembers. _If_ he remembers. He was so _young_ that night, still trying to form a coherent sentence. But then again, maybe he doesn’t remember because he wasn’t supposed to.

_“Your parents don’t exist.”_

Then why is it they felt so real?

_“You are a cartoon.”_

He takes Dot’s hand in his, making his way over to his little brother’s bed. Wakko tosses and turns, eyes screwed up tight, mumbling something incoherently under his breath. Yakko’s heart breaks. He was such a sweet child - good hearted and kind. A troublemaker certainly, but weren’t they all? Wakko didn’t deserve this.

He sits down beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. He could hear Dot sniffle behind him. She shouldn’t have to see this, he thinks. She doesn’t remember.

He catches Wakko as he jolts awake, burying his face in the elder Warner’s chest. Yakko doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. He just holds him for a while as the rain continues to pour outside. He holds him until he is quiet again.

Dot watches in silence, resting her head against Yakko’s shoulder until she too is caught in the clutches of slumber.

The rain lessens eventually, now just a soft putter outside of their prison-turned-home. Yakko feels his eyes drifting shut - _finally_ \- maybe now allowing his body to get some semblance of shuteye.

“Was it my fault?” Wakko murmurs in the dark.

_Huh._

Maybe he wasn’t as asleep as he thought. Yakko wasn’t sure what to say. Was anything their faults? Was it the A-N-I-M-A-T-O-R-S fault?

...did it matter?

He pauses. He thinks. The silence stretched to over a minute.

He looks down. Wakko is asleep again, sprawled against his chest like a weighted blanket. Dot too was still here, curled up beside them. The rain stops.

“ _No_ ”, he thinks, holding onto his brother just a bit tighter.

Yakko never wanted a brother. He never wanted a sister, either. But now he can’t imagine a life without them.

Somehow, he finds it within him to smile.

And he finally sleeps.


End file.
